The Brat Prince
by TwistedPrincess
Summary: Royalty is rarely noble.


Authors notes: OK, lot's of people will probably consider Legolas to be OOC in this story but as Tolkien didn't give us that much to play with that's pretty debatable. To be blunt, he's a bit of a git in this story. I think I've been reading too much Anne Rice and Mervyn Peake lately so Lestat, Steerpike and the plot bunnies all ganged up on me to produce this. There may even be some Slash later on for the simple reason that I can't help myself even with medication. This will NOT however be a romance of any kind. It's set sometime before the quest of the Ring about 2955 in the Third Age. That makes Aragorn about 19-20ish (he's not in it yet but may appear and it's easier to use his age as a timeline.) The only characters that are mine are the ones you don't know. Some help on the pronunciation. Sorcha = Sor-ca Dearmid = Dear-id Eilis = Eye-lish Enjoy.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
The Brat Prince-part 1  
  
  
  
  
Legolas, crown prince of Mirkwood gazed over the forest that was his home from the balcony in front of his rooms. Clad only in moss green leggings with his fair hair moving slightly in the breeze he appeared the epitome of all that was enviable about Elves. Their grace, their beauty and their tranquility. Legolas however, was restless and bored. Already that day he had hunted and afterwards thoroughly satisfied his lust with Oonagh, daughter to his father's steward Colum and now she slept in his bed. A cold smile crept briefly to his lips, the silly young mortal had idolised him since childhood though only recently had she provided any sport for him. Mortal women were crude, clumsy and altogether too slow to provide any lasting attraction but they were drawn to him like insects to sweet wine and provided him with some short lived distraction. They were easier to lure to his bed than others of his kind and he had enjoyed his fair share of mortals, both male and female. It was what made having so many human servants within the palace tolerable.  
The sound of Oonagh climbing from his bed caused him to turn.  
"Heru en amin." *My Lord* she addressed him, eyes cast down, sheet pulled around her small frame. The girl at least knew her place, many of his previous conquests had thought a place in his bed earned them more privilege than they deserved and had quickly become tiresome. He scrutinised her for a long moment, no, he had no need of her now,  
"Leave me Oonagh, I do not doubt you have work and your presence bores me." The girl merely nodded her ascent before turning to dress herself. It never failed to thrill Legolas how much control he had the power to wield over these beings.  
"If you require entertainment my Lord. I believe the slave market is in town. Perhaps hiring a new valet will bring you pleasure, for it is not right that someone of your status should be without one." Oonagh knew him well, nothing made Legolas feel more superior than trading for slaves.   
"Very well, inform your father there may be more places required at the servants table." He did not thank her. The girl left the room silently, for a human anyway, giving Legolas the demure courtesy that was required as a mark of respect.  
The slave market was held in a large clearing towards the forest's northern borders. Many of the servants who worked in the palace lived in the ramshackle houses that surrounded the area, whether or not it had a name, Legolas never bothered to learn. To him and his siblings it was simply the town. He rode hard and fast, pushing his mount to the very limits, confident that his Elven eyesight and reflexes would protect him from any obstacles in his path.   
It was late afternoon by the time he arrived at the market. Not the best time to be trading as the more obedient and stronger slaves had already been taken by the more astute bidders earlier in the day. This fact was of no concern to Legolas. He was here chiefly for the sport and besides, a less submissive servant would be more fun to break. He dismounted from his horse and gazed coolly around the market place. Despite it being past midday, the heat was still oppressive and the air filled with dust. He signalled to one of the boys who worked in the stableyard of the inn to take his horse from him and made his way casually towards the traders.  
His arrival had not gone unnoticed and many of the traders were pulling at the chains of their slaves in an attempt to get them to stand to attention, or pushing their fittest and strongest to the front. Some were standing in long rows chained at the ankle, many having been marched over long distances. Legolas ignored these immediately. They bored him, they were often the older ones who had been in bondage a long time and therefore had neither the physical strength nor the strength of will to be anything other than submissive. They often were half-dead anyway having been treated harshly and worked too hard.  
He made his way towards the ranks of enclosed, box-like carts with covered roofs and iron bars on the front like cages on wheels that he knew from experience housed the younger, newer slaves. Many of the cages were nearly empty, having been the first place that many sought to look. They smelt rank, the stench of human sweat, blood and overcrowding. The swarthy men who owned the slaves eyed Legolas greedily. The Prince of Mirkwood was known for not caring overly much about the price of slaves if he had his mind set to own a particular one.  
The last cage contained a trio that made Legolas pause in his careless browsing. Three young humans, a boy and two girls stood together having been pulled forward after receiving a smart tug on the chain that bound them at the ankle. The boy was the oldest, nineteen mortal years possibly but he looked of all of them the weakest. Dark hair curled limply around a pale face with shadows smudging dark blue eyes. He was tall, undernourished and plainly ill but also undeniably attractive. Next to him stood a girl, somewhat younger, sixteen or seventeen possibly with a ferocious scowl and shoulder length hair, matted like an animals pelt and so filthy Legolas could barely discern it's colour, brown or possibly red. She was stocky and for some unknown reason dressed like a boy, in a dirty shirt and tattered leggings. Dwarf-shot, thought Legolas cruelly, or possibly Gondorian, their women were hardly delicate. The next girl was a child of barely nine, rather timid looking with long sandy hair she had finer features than the other girl whose hand she clung to so desperately. All three had eyes so dark a blue they were almost black. Such an unusual colour they had to be related, despite the differences in their looks. Probably a whore's unwanted brats he thought to himself. Well, two at least were worth something.  
"The older boy and girl, how much?" he asked the fat gap-toothed man who clutched the chain. At these words the youngest child whimpered in fear and struggled closer to her sister.  
"There we have a problem my Lord. The three of them will not be separated for any price, the middle one blacked my eye last time I tried it."  
"Well, all three then." The youngest could be put to work in the kitchens until she was of any use and three personal servants was more than he could have hoped for from today's venture.  
"For you, twenty-five silver."  
"Twenty-five, don't be ludicrous!" sneered Legolas "One's a weakling, the other a baby and the third practically dangerous. Fifteen."  
"Twenty and no lower, the boy is a good worker."  
"Done." Legolas handed over the money with the pride that came from owning another's freedom. He turned to face his new possessions who regarded him warily.  
"Lle quena I'lambe tel' Eldalie?" *Do you speak Elvish?* their blank looks confirmed his suspicions. He doubted they could even read or write. He sighed, one of the benefits of the servants his father acquired was the fact that most of them had lived or worked in the palace since childhood and so spoke the elvish language and saved him the bother of having to speak the common tongue, even though it had been part of his studies when he was younger.  
"Follow me, we have a long way to go."  
"How? I can carry my sister but my brother cannot walk far." Unsurprisingly it was the middle girl who addressed him so frankly with an unwavering gaze.  
"Then you will walk and he will ride behind me. I suppose you have names." He only wanted to know for the purpose of summoning them as his need required, their identity was of little consequence to him.  
"I am Sorcha, my brother is Dearmid and my sister Eilis." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reciprocate the introduction.  
"I am Legolas, crown Prince of Mirkwood, but to you I shall simply be My Lord." With that he hoisted the pliant Dearmid onto his horse and looked down on the two girls. "Hurry, it will be dark soon and I'm not willing to waste arrows defending slaves." And he turned, setting a brisk pace for the two to follow as best as they could. 


End file.
